Shainee Gabel's leaden debut \A Love Song for Bobby Long"" opens with a scruffy, downtrodden John Travolta shuffling drunk around New Orleans after an afternoon at the bars, accompanied by an exceptionally moody blues song. When the song wanes, a perpetually nondescript voiceover intones, ""Time was never kind to Bobby Long,"" before launching into florid yet clumsy exposition. Rather than providing a useful introduction to a woeful Southern gothic tale, this opening line calls more attention to Travolta and his latest showboat of a performance.
Considering that Travolta's last decent film was 1998's ""A Civil Action,"" and that he's mostly been cackling diabolically (""Battlefield Earth,"" ""Swordfish"") or intimidating the shifty military (""Basic,"" ""The General's Daughter"") since, one is forced to note that time hasn't been kind to Travolta either. His thoroughly ostentatious portrayal of the titular Bobby Long smacks of desperation; it's a juicy role complete with an accent and multiple breakdowns, but Travolta's overzealous grandstanding serves only to highlight how glaringly trite Gabel's film truly is.
Scarlett Johansson stars as Purslane Hominy Will (doesn't that name just ooze literary pretentiousness?), an eighteen-year-old high school dropout living in a Florida trailer with her irresponsible man. She receives a letter informing her of her mother's death and books it to New Orleans for the funeral, only to be greeted by a drunken Bobby Long and his somewhat less-unkempt friend Lawson Pines (Gabriel Macht). Purslane's mother owned the shabby home Bobby and Lawson currently occupy, thus entitling her to partial ownership of the place. She proceeds to unpack her things and reside with these two strange men, thus bringing fresh and varied conflict.
Said conflict yields the bulk of the remainder of ""A Love Song for Bobby Long,"" which includes Purslane Hominy Will grudgingly struggling to finish up that pesky grade 12, trying vainly to loosen Bobby Long's grip on the bottle and sleuthing to discover who her father is (the answer is practically telegraphed before the opening credits).
Gabel's film is fueled by Southern-fried eccentricity interspersed with Macht's insipid narration, lingering shots of Louisiana countryside, and occasional maladroit revelations to catalyze Purslane's journey toward the truth. Bobby and Lawson spend their days staring drunkenly at their surroundings, frequently quoting authors, singing or recounting tales of the past. Proficient cinematography and a soundtrack composed of well-chosen blues generate a befitting atmosphere for these trailer denizens to inhabit, but can only distract from the awful dialogue and repetitious plotline-Travolta spouts off cutesy, faux-literary dialogue, Johansson pouts and Macht just looks around between slugs of vodka.
""A Love Song for Bobby Long"" is merely a collection of tedious scenes with actors clearly relishing the opportunity to glam down and sleaze their way to critical praise. Macht has all the charisma of a popsicle stick with a five o'clock shadow, but his blandness contrasts appropriately with Travolta's drawly emoting. Johansson runs away with the film, but this is mostly the result of process of elimination. Occasionally Gabel infuses Will's dialogue with sardonic verve, but moments such as these are few and far between.
""A Love Song for Bobby Long"" is a protracted, inadequate bowl of melodramatic gumbo with indisputably beautiful scenery. Gabel's debut, despite its intentions, is told with the grace of a Faulknerian man-child and unfortunately represents another embarrassment for Travolta.
